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Merriam Ellsworth
23/Neither/New Jersey    Poetess/Nurse

Poems

Chloë Fuller Jan 2015
13th and pine
15th and pine
12th and federal
broad and morris
13th and spruce
juniper and lombard
juniper and locust
13th and walnut
18th and ellsworth
12th and kater
23rd and christian
15th and rodman
9th and filbert
17th and carpenter
10th and spruce
17th and cecil b. moore
23rd and annin
17th and ellsworth
somewhere desolate in Germantown
broad and catherine
12th and spruce
4th and catherine
10th and christian
16th and reed
Revati Ramesan Jul 2017
Click clack went her heels,
When she tried to hurry inside.
Splish Splash went all the drinks,
When she pushed the waiter aside.

“Did you hear, did you hear?”
She said, her breath catching up with her.
“Oh dear, what happened,”
Said Mrs. Ellsworth, whilst brushing her fur.

“Diana Cowden, queen of the pies,
Was found dead in her yard.
Oh lord oh lord, the worst’s yet to come,
The bake-off is in a week, how could she die?”

“Yes sweetheart, her death is all about you,”
Said Lady Brownlowe in a calming, soothing tone.
“Please tell us how it happened, how did she die.”
“And skip the gory details, I don’t want to get ***** on my ****.”

The crowd screeched to a halt,
As Mrs. Thornberry prepared herself for the story.
There was pin-drop silence in the room,
Except for Mrs. Ackerman, who was hungry, really not her fault.

“A gunshot wound to her head,
Rake marks across her face.
The poor darling, she couldn’t get away from it all,
Her family, such a disgrace.”

“It still isn’t clear how it all happened,
No signs of struggle, no pain at all.
It’s as if she knew what was coming,
Such a brave heart, and such a fall.”

It still isn’t clear who tried to **** the brave soul,
The police is just as dumbfounded.
Her office’s a mess and so is the kitchen,
Her yard was all clean, except the portion where she was found dead.

“Still, who could have committed, such an atrocity?”
Said Lady Brownlowe, tears welling up in her eyes.
“We were such good friends, we had picnic plans in May,”
Said Mrs. Ackerman, her mouth, stuffed with pie.

“Was anything taken from the office?”
Asked Mrs. Ellsworth, finally opening up.
“It’s strange that you ask that, it really is.
Her prized recipe for Butterscotch Custard has now gone with the wind.”

“She cherished the recipe,
And kept it so close to the heart.
I’d hate for something bad to happen to her,
Even more for her recipes.”

“She was known for being the most charismatic baker,
Her book full of secrets.
A fallen comrade, a fallen hero.
Now, a moment of silence, let’s pay our respects.”

As everyone bowed their heads in respect,
Two heads stayed still.
One with a mysterious smirk,
The other one, scared of smirk, gave out a scream so shrill.

“What’s wrong Betty, is everything okay?”
Asked Lady Brownlowe, stroking Mrs. Thornberry’s hair.
Filled with fear she looked around the room,
The murderer she thought who was gone, stood right over there.

She took her index finger and brushed it over her lips,
A silent “Shush” came out, and then she left.
“Nothing, nothing” shouted out Mrs. Thornberry,
“I must’ve seen a spider, a big menacing one.”

“It’s alright, calm down.” Mrs. Ackerman said,
“There’s no need to worry, they waiters have readied their brooms.”
Lady Brownlowe sat back and smiled,
“Well, at least we know who’ll win this time.”

“Susan? Susan where’d you go”
The cries had started to echo.
“Oh wait,” said Mrs. Ackerman, “don’t you remember?”
“Mr. Ellsworth is coming back home from Westchester!
I know its a bit long, but I wanted to experiment with a different genre
Ellsworth Land's prima donna of the Latin sing-a-long
lassoed Joss' hollow demoiselle crane
a pair of circuitous logicians finally deciphered
her grammatical Denebola into oblivion.
The insipid petifog skeleton storyteller, behind
incessant green quibbling eyes, ticking
impatient thoughts in dreams tomorrow.
I kind of flipped through a dictionary, found random words, and strung them together in slightly coherent thoughts.